Hurt
by SarahWDBZ
Summary: Bulma heals Vegeta's wounds one night... An experimental piece based on the song "Hurt", by Nine Inch Nails.


This is my first one-shot, and as previously mentioned, the style is slightly experimental.

I'd love to read your comments and/or constructive criticism!

I hope you enjoy it...

* * *

 ** _I hurt myself today_**

 ** _To see if I still feel_**

 ** _I focus on the pain_**

 ** _The only thing that's real_**

He slowly seats on the kitchen chair, alone in the dark.

It has become a routine for him, sitting in the middle of the night, forcing his body to cool down before he allows himself the luxury of a scalding shower and a sleepless night full of childhood nightmares.

Bulma enters the room.

The woman has also become a routine for him.

She looks at him and she gives him one of those smiles full of kindheartedness only she can offer…

It unnerves him.

No one's ever smiled at him that way.

No one's ever smiled at him.

Period.

He listens to her soft steps as she walks through the kitchen in the dim light, warming up some milk for them both, and she places an empty mug in front of him as she waits for their nightly drink to be ready.

They don't talk, there's no need to.

It's been almost a year since this gorgeous creature invited him into her home and he hasn't even ascended yet.

He feels like shit.

He feels like a worthless piece of shit.

Bulma pours the milk into his mug, and he waits patiently while she adds cocoa and sugar to the mix. Her elegant fingers delicately stirring the mixture until it's ready for him to drink it.

She sits down in front of him and she repeats the process in her own mug.

And then she notices.

His hands are trembling.

He overdid it today.

Again.

Her old self would yell at him, berating him for training himself to death day after day, but it's been some time since she's done that.

Things have changed now.

She's not sure how or when it happened, but something's different about her relationship with the Saiyan Prince now.

Now she knows him.

And she accepts him, just the way he is.

She respects him.

He takes a sip of the hot mixture: it's warm, comforting and sweet.

Just like the woman who prepared it for him.

And then he realizes his vision is changing.

He sees red.

His left eyebrow is split.

He really fucked up today, didn't he?

But pain is good.

Pain is almost like a friend, an old friend that's always been by his side, reminding him that he's still alive.

Reminding him that this cosmic joke of a life he's been thrown into is real.

He's real.

And so is the pale hand that suddenly touches his rough fingers, gently intertwining them together, and weakly trying to force him to stand up and follow her.

And he does.

Because she's real too, and for some unknown reason she wants to heal him.

 ** _The needle tears a hole_**

 ** _The old familiar sting_**

 ** _Try to kill it all away_**

 ** _But I remember everything_**

She walks through the hallway in front of him, never letting go of his hand, until they reach a room.

Her room.

They enter the bedroom and she lets go of him, leaving him alone while she goes to the bathroom to retrieve some medical supplies.

He knows what to do.

He walks to her bed and he sits down tiredly on top of the comforter, staring dejectedly at the floor.

He hears a noise and swiftly her feet are in front of him.

She's barefoot.

She kneels down in front of him, placing her pert bottom on top of her petite feet, and she gently touches his face, examining the damage with methodical eyes.

For a split second, their eyes meet, and he sees something else in those blue eyes.

Pity.

The blue haired siren feels sorry for him.

A feeling that would normally repulse him.

A feeling he's been raised to despise.

And yet, tonight he welcomes it, embraces it, simply because she is the one experiencing it.

She feels for him.

And the idea of this pure creation feeling something other than hatred and horror towards him pleases him.

"Give me your arm, please" she whispers.

And he gives it to her.

He'd give her anything she asked for.

Anything.

He barely feels the thin needle pierce his resilient skin, and a dark part of him wishes that it hurt more, that the pain was stronger.

Because pain is good.

Pain keeps him grounded.

And yet, he's allowing her to inject him a painkiller, something he's never allowed before, in order to give her the illusion that she can make the pain go away.

And, in a way, she does, but not through her primitive human medicine.

She alone makes the pain go away.

 ** _What have I become?_**

 ** _My sweetest friend_**

 ** _Everyone I know_**

 ** _Goes away in the end_**

Her soothing hands expertly stitch his eyebrow, and she delicately applies some antiseptic after she's done.

It stings.

The disinfectant burns his skin, and he once again welcomes the discomfort.

But it doesn't last long, because soon she's blowing over it.

Soothing him.

Making the pain go away.

When she's done, she remains sited on the floor, her graceful hands fidgeting on her lap.

Not knowing what to do.

He wonders if she fears him, but he quickly reminds himself that this Earth woman fears nothing and no one.

Not even him.

This used to infuriate him, but now it pleases him.

Now he knows that, if she ever feared him again, it would destroy him.

His heart, whatever is left of it, would stop beating.

He looks into her eyes and she fearlessly holds his gaze, those shimmery oceanic eyes of hers…

He suddenly realizes that this woman could bring any man to his knees, and the thought of any other man, of _anyone_ really, possessing her hurts.

He hurts.

And someday he fears he'll hurt her too.

After all, that's his specialty, isn't it?

 ** _You could have it all_**

 ** _My empire of dirt_**

 ** _I will let you down_**

 ** _I will make you hurt_**

His Bulma stands up, she presses one of her knees onto the bed and she crawls on it, making him feel the bed shift behind him.

He turns around.

There she is, laying on her side of the bed.

Like a queen.

Oh, what a queen she would have made…

If his race were still alive, he'd fight everyone and anyone for her.

He would have been proud of having her by his side, sitting on the most precious throne wealth could buy.

Just for her.

And she'd be proud of being his woman, because he'd be an almighty Prince.

He'd be someone.

Now he's nothing.

The Prince of Disappointment.

Now he has nothing.

But she doesn't seem to mind, because a slender arm stretches towards him, offering him the warmth of her body.

Offering him something.

And he takes it.

 ** _I wear this crown of shit_**

 ** _Upon my liar's chair_**

 ** _Full of broken thoughts_**

 ** _I cannot repair_**

He doesn't take her hand, but he slowly lays down on the bed, giving her his back.

That's the only intimacy he allows her.

That's the way they've been doing it for a while.

He's expecting her to get close to him, holding his muscular waist in her arms, burying her face in his warm back.

But she has other plans tonight…

 ** _Beneath the stains of time_**

 ** _The feelings disappear_**

 ** _You are someone else_**

 ** _I am still right here_**

She holds his hand and she pulls softly, trying to make him turn towards her.

He knows she has no physical strength to do so.

He knows it will be his choice to face her.

And he does.

Because there's nothing he can deny her.

So, he turns around.

There she is.

She's smiling, happy with his compliance.

She confidently moves towards him, knowing she's safe with him by his side.

He knows she's the only person that's ever felt that way towards him.

 ** _What have I become?_**

 ** _My sweetest friend_**

 ** _Everyone I know_**

 ** _Goes away in the end_**

He thinks she'll embrace his waist once more and rest her face in his chest.

She proves him wrong again.

The woman slips an arm underneath his impenetrable neck and she pulls again, inviting him to bury his face in her neck.

And he lets her.

Without a doubt.

 ** _You could have it all_**

 ** _My empire of dirt_**

 ** _I will let you down_**

 ** _I will make you hurt_**

He buries his face in her neck, exhaling a trembling rush of hot air.

He inhales deeply, that feminine scent of hers.

She smells of joyous dreams and hope.

He circles her tiny waist with his powerful arms and he holds her tight.

He knows he won't hurt her physically.

He's a master of self-control after all.

Her emotions on the other side…

Yes.

He'll hurt her someday.

He'll never break her bones, but he'll break her heart.

He knows it.

And she probably knows it too.

 ** _If I could start again_**

 ** _A million miles away_**

 ** _I would keep myself_**

 ** _I would find a way_**

They lay like this for countless minutes, holding each other for dear life.

He knows it won't last.

These innocent nights won't last forever.

He knows one of these days he'll cross the line.

One of these days he's going to spread her legs wide open and bury himself deep inside of her, giving her everything he has left.

And it won't be enough.

Because it's not much.

And she deserves more than a deeply damaged, emotionally wounded warrior.

At nights like this he sometimes wishes he were a different man.

A better man.

A decent man.

A man worthy of her.

He secretly knows that if he could start all over again, he'd do a lot of things differently.

But there's no going back.

It is what it is.

And he submerges his wishful thoughts deep inside his dark soul, where no one will ever find them.

He kisses her temple and she sighs happily.

They both know where this is heading, but there's no going back.

He needs her.

And for some strange reason, she seems to need him too.

He closes his eyes and he allows himself to relax.

To let go.

Someday, when he finally crosses that invisible line, he'll possess her.

He'll take as much of her as she'll be willing to give.

And he'll break her.

He'll destroy her.

Yes.

He _will_ hurt her.

But tonight, a dreamless night will suffice…

* * *

Well folks... What did you think?

I hope it wasn't a big mess...


End file.
